


Just a Rabbit

by Deriliarch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, animal death mention, vomiting mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 11:26:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14851860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deriliarch/pseuds/Deriliarch
Summary: James doesn't quite grasp what it means to Remus to be a werewolf. In their second year, he begins to understand.





	Just a Rabbit

Remus had always been more stoic, more guarded than the other three. Oh, sure, he was funny and he was dry and he didn’t hesitate to tell them they were being stupid, but it was hard to tell when he was sad, in pain, or scared. He was just…quieter. James had always wondered  _why–_ was that just how he was raised? Was he so used to having to hide things about himself, he just forgot where the secrets stopped? Was it something to do with control? Was it because he was sad and scared and in pain  _all the time–_ and James usually stopped himself there. Not because it was unthinkable, but because the possibility–probability–was uncomfortable.

It was just how his friend operated; he just became quieter, tighter, more contained, the corners of his mouth pinching. They were all used to it.

So, when he trekked up to the Hospital Wing to check on Remus after a full moon and found him hunched in his bed, silently sobbing, he panicked. Sirius was in Hogsmeade and Peter was visiting home. Madam Pomfrey was nowhere in sight. They were alone. He was at his side instantly, already trying to assess the damage; horrible injury, crumpled letter announcing the death of a loved one,  _something._ But it was just him in his flannel pajamas, scrunched up and shuddering, head on his knees, hands in his hair. 

“Remus, what…what’s wrong?” He asked, as cautiously as he could manage. He had never been very good with knowing the right thing to say in these situations–you couldn’t bluster your way through comforting someone and Remus had never demanded much vulnerability on his part. In his 2 years of knowing him, he had never seen Remus this distraught, this exposed.

“It was just a rabbit." Remus’ voice was so raw and choked, it took a moment for James to process the words. Then, a few more because that sentence meant nothing to him.

"I…don’t understand…?”

“It got in. It got in and I couldn’t–I woke up–it was  _everywhere._ I  _remember_  it, I can–”

Suddenly, he lurched forward, tipping forward onto his knees, almost toppling off the bed and made the most horrid sound James had ever heard, a retch, a sob, a cough. It made his own stomach twist in a mirror of nausea, but it didn’t seem to be the first time he had thrown up today, because nothing happened. Remus just curled over, forehead to the bedclothes, arms wrapped around his middle and rocked, almost imperceptibly. He whispered, raggedly, “It didn’t  _do_  anything and I….”

Watching his friend shake apart, cracked open as he had never done before, James realized he had never actually grasped what this… _thing_  had done to him. He had seen the pain it caused him, before and after, he had seen just how alienated Remus felt from everyone else and had always internally dismissed this as a needless self deprecation, an unfortunate internalization of the words of prejudiced folk. But this….This was no ‘well, it was  _just_  a rabbit’ or 'wolves need to eat,’ no 'it wasn’t you, it was an accident.’

This was 'I have the memory and taste of killing a live animal with my teeth as it screamed and did what animals do when they die and it would have made no difference to the thing that controlled my body if it had been my best friends.’ He had never looked at Remus and seen a monster. He always scoffed, inwardly or outwardly whenever Remus said so, but the blood that still stained his now clean hands, the raw meat he was sure he could still taste didn’t care what James thought. The beast that took control of his body and mind didn’t care. It would have been just as happy if it had been him. It wasn’t just a rabbit, because to Remus, it could have been anyone.

He still didn’t see a monster in the collapsed boy in front of him. No shadow lurked in his reddened, wet face, furrowed in the helpless anguish of a child terrified beyond measure. There was no wailing, just pressed, squeezed gasps between shudders. For the first time, James fancied he actually understood a little of what Remus had always said–this wasn’t something that happened to him once a month, this was something that was under his skin. Always and forever. 

What should he say? What  _could_  he say? He laid a hand on Remus’ back.

It was just a rabbit.

This time.

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd as usual and written at 1 am on my phone, so please forgive any random mistakes!


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